


Mind the Flesh

by More_night



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Episode: s03e06 XXIV, Gen, Physical Disability, canon-like talks of canon-like suicidal thoughts, stump gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 02:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11303625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/More_night/pseuds/More_night
Summary: Missing scene from 3x06. Flint realizes Silver's leg is infected. They talk about it.





	Mind the Flesh

Amongst the queen’s conditions to accept Flint’s proposal was the need to take several of their men on their ship’s crew. So much, in fact, as to make it almost a third of its manpower. In return, some of Flint’s men would stay here, on the island. All of this, of course, in show of good faith.

The morning came with a harsh light. Into the main hut, a desk had been set up. Maroons lined up in front of it. Behind the desk, sat Silver and De Groot. Each at their turn, the men took a stand before them and Silver asked them, “Profession, capabilities or inclinations?”

A few of them had done carpentry in camps, farms and plantations. A handful had been used to fill in for sailors on slave ships. Some were strong men, visibly used to a fight, and Silver insisted they take them on, even if De Groot disapproved.

As the day progressed, it was time to review the ship’s supplies, those missing, those needed. Flint watched from a distance as Silver volunteered to participate in this as well. He remained seated at the desk, poring over the ship’s ledgers, checking columns and listing items. Mr. De Groot had long gone out.

The men assembled in the afternoon to eat. Billy stopped by Silver to offer him to join them. “No, thank you Billy. I’ll see this finished first.”

Billy frowned. “You sure? You’ve been here all morning. 'Must be starving.”

“The faster this is done, the faster we can move off the island and this alliance can unfold into whatever it can possibly be.” He nodded toward the men outside. “Go. Keep me some rum for tonight.”

Flint waited until Billy had left. The hut was mostly empty now.

He went to Silver and said, “Meet me in the forest. Near the river’s bent.”

Silver clenched his jaw and took his eyes around the room. “There’s no one here,” he said. “What can’t you tell me?”

“You haven’t slept last night. The light never went out in your tent. You have diligently worked here all morning. And you also haven’t _stood_ ,” Flint said, leaning forward over the ledger. “I have noticed. Others will.”

With that, he left, and Silver sat for a while, alone. The swelling hadn’t gotten worse. This he felt from the boot alone, and the pain seemed to have dimmed somewhat.

But when he rose, he found the pain so vibrantly renewed, that he clenched his teeth hard enough to send a ripple through his skull.

God, it was even worse than this morning.

 

* * *

  


Making it to the river alone was something. He was panting by the time he found Flint. The captain offered him his shoulder to lead him to a smooth rock. The stream was clear, flowing at Silver’s feet. Flint had brought cloths and a bucket of clean water.

“I can do this myself,” Silver said, surprised at how unsteady his own voice sounded.

Flint looked up at him, eyes as clear as the river. “Have you?”

Rolling up his left pant leg, fingers trembling, Silver turned his head up to the sky, white and far through the trees above. “A few days before they let us out of the cage, it had already started hurting. But I figured I was just tired.”  


Flint crouched in front of him. Even above the leather, the skin of the leg was swollen, red, with spots of dehydrated white. “I thought I was the one with the death wish,” he said.

Threatening to become useless, Silver’s hands unbuckled the boot’s straps quickly, hiding their quivering with hurried motions. Flint let him do, then stopped him a moment before it became obvious that Silver couldn’t pull the boot off himself. The captain’s left hand held on the leather, his right gripped the iron leg. “Don’t try and detach it,” Silver said. “Just pull.”

Pull, Flint did.

Nearby birds flew disorderly from the branches around them at Silver’s sharp yell.

When Silver opened his eyes again, the air felt surprisingly cool against his skin. Flint looked at the stump of his leg with a deep crease to his brow. “Do you even take it off at all at night?”

“You sound like Howell.”

“I take it he doesn’t know about this?”  


With the boot off, Silver felt both a little stronger and a little dizzier. He soaked the cloth into the water. “The leather creates sweat. Sweat creates blisters. Blisters get infected. Quicker, Howell tells me, since the bone lies directly against the skin. Not enough tissue between them,” he said. “Usually, airing it at night dries it and washing it prevents infections. But the air is too damp here, it doesn’t work as well.” He placed the cloth against the swell of skin. When he took it off, it had a streak of blood and a touch of yellow liquid, coming from the cleft that had replaced the scar.

“This doesn’t look like it hurt,” Flint said. “It should hurt.”

“I know,” Silver said. “It’s only in the first stage now. It's going to swell some more, then I'll have a fever, and only then will it hurt. Then I’ll start feeling like the bones inside are moving and thumping against each other. But it’ll still be numb until sundown at least.”

“Like the flesh doesn’t yet know that it’s dying.”

Silver looked up. “It will, eventually.”

Nodding silently, Flint rinsed the cloth and handed it back to Silver. He observed the cleaning ritual for a time, then reached out to stroke Silver’s brow and eyed the shine on his fingers. “The fever’s there already.”

“On the other hand, it’s also steaming hot out here,” Silver said. The bleeding didn’t really stop. And even through the numbness, it felt as if the remnant of bone in his leg was about to pierce the bundled skin.

Flint huffed humorlessly, got to his feet and walked off briskly. Silver heard noises of leaves being rustled, saplings pushed aside and finally, the thick snap of broken wood.

The captain returned with a young branch of mahogany. It was about the size of his wrist in diameter. With his short sword, he started cutting off the smaller twigs and smoothening out a bigger one, about halfway down, that Silver could use as a handle. He had snapped the branch at a Y-crossing and worked on it too, until, gradually, some sort of shoulder rest appeared.

“Howell has one of those for me on the ship,” Silver pointed out.  


“And I don’t suppose you use it,” Flint said, eyes on his task.

“So this one is special, then?”

Flint paused and waited until Silver’s eyes met his. “If you keep using the boot for your leg, you will die. It’s only a matter of time.”

Silver had a quiet, understanding frown. “If you keep waging this war, especially a war that’s still mostly just a bet for survival, you will die. And you seem to be keen on it happening as soon as possible.”  


With a fleeting smile, Flint said, “Point taken.”

“I don’t want to die,” Silver said, after a time.

“It’s never exactly wanting to die,” Flint agreed. “Things start to become clearer and clearer, and, at a point, one wonders which they would prefer, out of being enslaved or dead. Bound or dead. Beaten or dead.” He paused. “Weak or dead. Like your life is suddenly a simple question, that is asked at every moment.”

Silver paused his cleaning. The stump glistened with pink droplets. “I prefer you alive.”

Flint shrugged minutely. “The death of a leader can often stir the troops in battle, urge them forward, to claim the unity they have lost.”

“Or it is like cutting off the head of the beast, leaving behind only its disbanded body, as useless as a doll?” Silver said. “If I were to lose the men, the crew, I could find another. It would be difficult, and the perspective is haunting. But I haven’t yet been able to imagine what I would do without you.”

The captain kept working on the crutch for a moment, thin shavings of wood falling on the soft sand. “Lose more of your leg, I suppose,” Flint said, softly. “Your eyes have the glimmer of fever to them. What do you usually do then?”

Silver dried his stump as best he could. The bleeding was not as bad, but it was still numb. “I drink a few shots of rum. Pass it as mild drunkenness.”

Flint nodded. “Good.” He handed Silver the crutch. It was still mostly rough wood, strong but green, with some bark still visible, and Silver hated the very sight of it, but the boot’s leather seemed clammy and sinister. “If the men ask about the drinking, tell them you argued with me because I ordered you to stay here on the island.”

Then, Flint offered Silver his hand. Silver shook his head and nodded to the crutch. “If I need to use this from time to time, I have to learn to manage myself with it.”

Slowly, Flint dropped his hand. He was looking at Silver, the skin paler than usual, redder around the eyelids, some of his hair glued to his temples, but the eyes starkly vivid, as if reaching out for the world. “You look like death,” he said.

With a chuckle, Silver grasped the crutch firmly, testing his grip on the handle. “It might become a good look on me,” Silver said.

“It'll pass,” Flint said, worry and lightness fighting in his voice. And he turned and left.

Silver waited until the noise of leaves and bushes rustled by Flint's step had died down, then he got up painstakingly, his head swimming like a lost sailor struggling to reach the surface. Around him the colors were brighter, the sounds sharper and yet all was more distant.

His return to camp was careful. The men did ask, and he did tell them Flint had ordered him to stay here, and that he disapproved. Billy seemed to think it meaningful. Another rift between them.

That night, the haze of the rum brought him to the haze of the fever. He dreamed he could fly, he was clothed all in black, and searched the sea for Flint and couldn’t find him.

 


End file.
